A Leap into Destiny
by MiiYuKira
Summary: Hawke. The man who's at the centre of all the conflict in Kirkwall some years after the Blight- follow his journey as he tries hard to make ends meet for his two siblings and their mother. Rated T for now, might change once the romance option has been fixed.
1. Chapter 1: Hawke

A/N: Got the urge to write this after going through the beginning of Dragon Age II- it won't be updated as soon as I like- my other stories have to be finished first. Characters from the Perspective series make cameos every now and then, just because they adore Hawke's manly beard xD

Summary: Hawke. The man who's at the centre of all the conflict in Kirkwall- follow his journey as he tries hard to make ends meet for his two siblings and their mother. Haven't decided on a romance option for him yet but... we'll see, shall we? Ideas please?

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**A Leap into Destiny**_  
_

**Chapter 1: ****Hawke****  
**

_Lothering. Carver was off, fighting a war that was doomed from the start. He had enlisted the first chance he had, much to his mother's chagrin. _

_Darkspawn. Foul creatures that roamed the earth, bringing death and destruction each place they set foot. They tainted everything in their path._

_Hawke. That name still rang. As the eldest, his role was to keep his family safe. He has had to, since his father passed._

_Desperation. Refugees poured into Lothering from the southern villages. But it was no sanctuary—there was no pity, no life, in a place as depressed as this._

_Survival. And so, they waited. The three of them, for their brother to come home. Mother had refused to leave without word of him._

_Lothering was drained. No army was left to guard the peace, although there were still the templars. A qunari had attacked a family to the west of where they were, slaughtering all, even the children. This was the way of life. There was no mercy, no kindness in helping strangers. Even if Hawke believed that some of them, were innately good._

_Darkspawn were sighted, upon the far hills. The corruption was coming, and still Mother refused to run. She wanted to know the outcome from her baby boy herself._

_Hawke knew. The war against darkspawn would take far more than the King's army. Grey Wardens would stop it, but there were precious few of those in Ferelden._

_Desperation swept through the place. And soon, even the Chantry left, the Grand Cleric escorted away by her loyal templars, leaving the village to burn. Still, they waited. Carver had to be coming._

_Survival was important. He had to protect his family. They were all he had, as an apostate._

_His brother returned, in a fluster. The war was lost, and fleeing was the only option._

"_Pack only food. We have to go. Now." The streams of perspiration ran down his face, his arms, and the panic in his eyes was evident. It was hopeless to remain where they were, so close to the Kocari Wilds._

_The first wave of darkspawn was seen as they exited their house, a modestly-furnished place in which they had grown up. Now was not the time for goodbyes. They fled, as fast as they could, heading north. Perhaps to Denerim. As long as it was away from the foul beasts._

_As they ran from the village, Hawke saw a figure in black platemail, combing through the rubble. He shouted at it, waving his arms, unheeding his sister's urgent whimpers to keep running. He meant for his movements to be a warning. The figure waved in reply, as if in greeting, hand clutching a small gold figurine. Then, suddenly, it too noticed the advance of the tainted creatures. To his surprise it made no move to escape. A casual wave of the figure's hand sent a wave of flame through the abandoned buildings. The flame was of a most unusual colour. The hottest ripple of blue that consumed all things in its path. The shrieks from the darkspawn were terrible._

_It then turned, and picked its way towards them, with only some haste. Hawke's first thought—was to run, but even now, his brother had stopped. Now was not the time for curiosity. The figure was obviously a powerful mage._

"_You weren't at Ostagar." Carver accused, half in awe._

_The figure shrugged noncommittally as all of them moved north, away from the village. Mother was unsurprisingly silent, mute, at the loss of everything they owned._

_The tinny voice questioned, not without some worry. Hawke thought he had heard the hints of an accent. Whoever this was. Definitely not Ferelden. "What happened at Ostagar?" _

"_King Cailan is dead. As are the Grey Wardens. The battle—is lost." The figure was silent, before taking its leave, hoisting the pack with no small amount of resignation. _

_Hawke noticed that the gold figurine was stashed away rather quickly. "Then I must go."_

"_You could come with us—" began Bethany. Hawke turned to glare at her. She was obviously quite taken with the figure._

_A gentle shake of the head as it turned and left. "I'll draw as many of them away from you as possible. Go."_

"_We really could have used his help," muttered Carver._

"_Her."_

"_What?" Both twins were similarly confused._

_Garrett sighed. Was he truly the only one who noticed? The figure was female._

xOxOx

**Hawke**

I jerked awake, almost hitting my head on the wooden slats that held up Carver's empty bunk— he was already opening the door to the main room of the small hovel— where our mother and sister were already awake. So it was midday already? The nights went by fast while working for Athenril, but everything passed in a blur when there was absolutely nothing to do, besides wasting the days away. No one else hired Fereldans of a _questionable_ nature.

We had survived. All of us, the three Hawkes, and mother. Lothering was gone, taken by the darkspawn. But now there was… Kirkwall. The city wasn't the most terrible place (we could have been locked away in a Circle, or be eaten by darkspawn); sure it had the usual slums, groups of starving refugees, the occasional run-in with the coterie—but the entire family was here. And we were safe, for the moment.

Our year with the smugglers hadn't been the most glorious, but it certainly paid off. I now knew the hidden paths that made up the underbelly of Kirkwall, so if Bethany and I ever needed to evade the templars, a quick delve into those depths would keep them disoriented. We also had people who kept mum about us, knowing just how deadly the ends of our staffs were. Now, all we needed was money. Without the steady income from Athenril, it was hard to meet ends. The year was up, and I didn't want to inconvenience Gamlen for longer than was necessary. We all didn't. Lowtown was… Not exactly hospitable. We were grateful for Uncle Gamlen's assistance, as… _meagre_ as it was.

"Ugh. Uncle Gamlen, will it hurt for you to clean up every once in awhile?" The man mumbled something incoherent, before slipping out of the house as fast as he could. Both Carver and I agreed that it was the smartest thing to do.

Bethany was at it again. Every so often, she would decide to clean our dismal little hovel. Mother would wring a rag in the corner, but Bethany would do most of the actual 'cleaning'. She usually got underfoot, and sometimes, Carver and I had to "pitch in".

Neither of us enjoyed her moods, but it beat having her mope around the place about the number of templars in the city. I knew just how many there were, but you don't see me doing the same. _She_ wasn't the only mage in the family.

Having one sibling do all the complaining was quite enough, at times. And _Master Carver_ was very capable of doing plenty of that all by himself. At least he got us out of there before we were handed the makeshift aprons and brooms.

"We're meeting someone," Was all he called back, before scuttling out after me.

He began without embellishment, brash and direct, as always. "I heard tell that there's a Deep Roads expedition. Funded by a dwarf, no less. Bartrand Tethras."

So this was his plan for turning our fortunes around. I had to agree—it seemed plausible. And very likely profitable.

"And you think he'll just welcome us with _short_, _open_ arms. How… wonderful and… somewhat creepy." I replied with no small amount of irony. Where there was money to be made, there were always dwarves in charge. And they weren't exactly the sort of people to share. Most in Kirkwall weren't the sort to share. The coterie's viciousness was testament of their territorial purse-strings.

"We could get Athenril to give us _glowing_ recommendations. And we're the only people who have fought darkspawn in this damned city, I gather. He'll need our experience."

"And we need the money." This was important, and should be established. Carver sometimes had the oddest ideas about wanting to prove one's worth to people. Persons. Whoever cared to watch.

My brother glanced at me, and not without sighing. "Yes, brother— that too."

xOxOx

The dwarf refused. And that's putting it mildly. Carver's last resort to dig our family out of the depths of Kirkwall had failed with the short man's horrifying swear. I never understood how people could even think of that one without sniggering—_Andraste's flaming tits_—sacrilegious, but a very intriguing mental image. But I digress, Master Carver was still speaking. To me, apparently.

"…they're _your_ templars we're running from." He finished, before glaring at me. Carver had talked himself quite red in the face, but I barely heard the last ten words he said. I was still thinking about that dream, and the image of the Holy Lady.

As soon as the dwarf walked out of earshot, I smirked. "Why are you so worked up about this anyway? They're _my_ templars." Of course, the Chantry's _defenders_ were after Bethany too, but to mention that would just be nitpicking.

To his credit, my brother looked sheepish. He winced, "Did I really sound like that? Oh Maker, I'm turning into Gamlen."

Leaning in close, I took a quick whiff. "I think the attitude's contagious, but the receding hairline and body odor hasn't set in yet. You're good, so far." At that, we laughed—our uncle had a most awful reputation for that in Darktown, and this made the debt collectors quite unwilling to bring their dogs around every week or so. Speaking of which, he was the reason we were this desperate for gold. We were deeper in arrears with each passing day—and those damned Orlesian vases probably didn't even exist in the first place.

This was when a man squeezed past us—a flash of the vermillion who also incidentally, lifted my purse. We both spun around, and as I gathered the strength to call down the lightning on the thief's carroty head, a bolt fired from a crossbow pinned him to a wall, and a dwarf divested the bag of coppers with no small amount of pizzazz.

He introduced himself as Varric, Bartrand's younger brother—and in a brief few seconds, talked the both of us into agreeing to financing the project alongside the short-tempered dwarf, claiming to be able to direct jobs our way. To be honest, most of it went over my head, though I did get a few crucial questions in—somehow, I was more interested that this Varric Tethras was a dwarf _without_ a _beard_. You don't see one of _those_ often.

xOxOx

**Carver**

My brother began leading the way back to Lowtown, and just as he stopped to speak to a couple of not-so-distant friends, the newest addition to our party began asking questions about our escape from Lothering just over two years ago.

"If it wasn't for my big brother… we might not have made it." I answered as evenly as I could. I did not begrudge Garrett his _skills_, but it was a fact that it remained a sore point for me. _I _was the warrior. _I _went to war. _I _saw darkspawn. And— I ran.

The wide, muscled back Garrett had, even as a mage, said volumes of how much raw strength lay beneath his tanned skin. His bare arms in the outfit which Athenril had supplied showed off his considerable biceps—well-toned and proportionate— also hiding the fact that he wielded staves, not blades in a battle. Of course, without the hunk of wood constantly strapped to his back, no one could accuse him of being an apostate. Yet.

I hated how easily he got eyes to follow his every move, how every word that fell from his lips came weighted and was immediately like the law. Few could resist his charms. Yes, I was jealous—but you'd never hear me say it. Especially not to him.

That ogre we met while running away from Lothering—I thought Bethany was a goner—until big brother stepped in and—did _something_, a _magic_ that tore the beast apart straight down the middle. Aveline and I caught only a _glimpse_ of the thing, but we saw the destruction that had been done when we finally killed our _hurlocks_.

Mother, Bethany and he were not showered by the slivers of flesh and covered spray of the brackish blood however, that had been ensured by the shield he and Bethany had maintained; a shimmering force field that held off the tainted gore. And yet, he was bleeding—his palm bore the jagged scar to this day. It was a close call, but we were thankful. We had to be _thankful_ that he had made it between them and certain death.

He was our guardian against all odds.

He was the reason we were still intact, as a family.

He who signified our name, _Hawke_.

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P.S.: Yes, the figure in platemail is Kiera. *hope you liked it! Thanks for reading :D


	2. Chapter 2: Comrades

A/N: As mentioned in the previous chapter, Hawke is a _very_ attractive man—a man who can attract more attention than he bargains for. *hint* Just a heads-up. Also, I will use some in-game dialogue, because it's hilarious and awesome, _and_ is worth repeating. Heh.

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**Comrades**

The first place I could think of to scrounge up some gold was oddly enough, the city guard—Kirkwall's second-finest (after their _glorious_ templars), guaranteed to have jobs that required discretion. Aveline occasionally had problems with the crime in Lowtown, and though the guard usually left these to the _discretion_ of the poor, there were opportunities for those needing an extra coin or too. The trick was to stop while one was ahead, or risk getting gutted when the coterie grew weary of such interference. Needless to say, Carver was unwilling to follow. Varric seemed cheerful enough, despite my brother's constant whining. The latter loathed entering the barracks (which was a curious thing—he wanted to join them not too long ago), and dragged his heels as much as he could, giving me that rueful glare every so often.

"Are you sure this is the best place to look for gold? No offense Hawke, but you don't have the skills to work Hightown either." The dwarf raised an eyebrow as we entered Viscount's Keep—where many of Kirkwall's richest loitered, hoping to gain an entrance with the leader of Kirkwall.

I smirked—knowing full well that the purses here were heavy with the clink of valuables. "Oh I'm no pickpocket—"

"—because _most_ people would notice a tall, fully-_bearded_ man looming over and laying his huge paws on their persons." Carver continued nonchalantly, much to Varric's amusement.

"Exactly. That and I don't have the _dainty_ feet for it." Ah, brotherly-love, always a rare source of jokes. Varric was sniggering, hard. Glad to see that we were entertaining _somebody_.

But soon, we came upon the woman clothed in jagged platemail, emblazoned with the orange that oddly enough, matched her hair. Being on different sides of the law, there was once a time when all three of us—Carver, Bethany and I were worried that our friend would one day be called upon to arrest us for our crimes. But as the months rolled by and we barely saw Aveline after she joined the guard, we relaxed, occasionally calling upon her for a drink. She rarely assented, but hey, it was better than being clapped in irons.

I called her name, by way of greeting—and was replied with no more than an indifferent "Hawke."

She stalked across the corridor, pausing before the papers tacked to the board—detailing shifts and duties for the guardsmen, peering at the spidery script closely. I had to admit, I did expect a much warmer welcome. "I'm fine, thanks for _asking_—though the pies in Lowtown do give one terrible _gas_."

"What—?" she muttered, before turning to face us three. Carver was giving her a particularly nasty look. "Oh I'm sorry—it just seems like we just spoke." That explained it.

I crossed my arms. "You know I hate it when you have your people spy on me. Can't you camp out on my doorstep like all the others who want to know more about the great, fantastic _Hawkes_?"

"I keep an eye on my friends," she replied loftily.

"Is that what you call us now?" I could just see Carver roll his eyes. He was not particularly amused by her admission. Neither was I.

She sighed heavily, shaking her head in defeat. "Friends look out for each other. But I will refrain from attaining my information in that manner from now on."

"Good. Any jobs for us?" I supposed that it was as good an assurance as I could get from her—that woman was not one for deception.

"Well, there is this one thing…" With that, Aveline regaled us with the promise of a bandit raid on the Wounded Coast. It certainly was on the way— for I remembered that we still had an amulet to return.

xOxOx

So I truly did not expect to see Flemeth again.

"So refreshing to see someone who keeps their end of the bargain—I half expected my amulet to end up in a merchant's pocket." The witch was smiling, but one could never tell with them. At least, my debt to her was done.

Agreeing to delivering that trinket had seemed a bargain at the time, and it had gotten all of us here. Safe. For now. I kept telling myself that it was no worse than the other things I'd done, for the sake of _family_.

"I couldn't sell it. Maybe because there was a _witch_ inside." Even if I did feel sort-of _used_.

"Just a piece. A _small_ piece, but it was all I needed. A bit of security should the inevitable occur…and if I know my Morrigan, it already has." Everything about her still bugged me intensely—the sooner we were away from here, the better. I ignored the obvious questions Flemeth tempted me to ask—I wanted no part of whatever preoccupied such a dangerous being.

"You _have_ plans, I take it?"

"Destiny awaits us both, dear boy—we have much to do… before I go, a word of advice—" She turned and faced the cliff, speaking into the void. Curiously, her voice diminished not.

"We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. _Watch_ for that moment… and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap." The woman eyed me again, citrine orbs judging every fibre of my being. "It is only when you _fall_ that you learn whether you can _fly_."

And I knew where this conversation was going. "Cheap advice, from a _dragon_."

"We all have our challenges." She seemed to smile at that, though it did not reach her piercing eyes.

Carver chose this moment to mutter, though it really could have been quieter. "Are we going to regret bringing her here?"

She turned her gaze on him, and to his credit, he did not flinch. Much. "And _regret_ is something I know well. Take care not to cling to it, to hold it so close that it poisons your soul. And when the time comes for your regrets— _remember_ me. " Carver only swallowed. Having a Witch of the Wilds address one quite so familiarly did take some getting used to.

She then turned to Merrill—the young Dalish elf who had led us thus far up the Sundermount, and her voice became pitying. "As for you, child, step carefully. No path is darkest than when your eyes are shut."

The girl barely kept from bowing again. "_Maas_ _seranaas_, _Asha'bellanar_."

Flemeth approached us again, this time, our eyes met and I felt a distinct chill. "Now the time has come for me to leave. You have my thanks—and my sympathy." I had no witty reply to that, it was bizarre, to say the least—and I had questions, but I knew that I would not get the answers _now_. These, would probably become clearer later—but it foretold endless tragedies. I did not want to admit it, but _she_ had gotten to me.

The light gleamed from within her—and she transformed into that famous dragon form, growing scales, wings, and those wicked teeth. A creature to be feared—but undeniably mesmerising. To have this much power, and still fear something simple as _death_ enough to have given me her amulet— made me find her just the little bit less terrifying.

Only a bit though. Her being able to breathe fire still made one wary.

* * *

P.S.: Feel free to tell me what you think—what you want to see, whether it was funny, if it was not, and whether you liked it :D


	3. Chapter 3: Interest

A/N: So, Chapter 3 already. I actually have some of the later chapters already written, but we'll get to that soon. Meanwhile, I hope Hawke is still funny, and my Varric lives up to the one in the game? Do let me know what you think about it! ^_^

* * *

**Chapter 3: Interest  
**

**Varric**

I had to admit, Hawke was a very persuasive man; he had managed to obtain the maps that Bartrand and I needed for the expedition, as well as a few more additions to our party. A week later, our motley crew had expanded to include the ditsy-but-adorable dalish elf, a blonde-mage-glowy Grey Warden, a broody-but-also-equally-glowy elf as well as a Riviani-pirate who had _lost_ her ship. I gotta say this—our leader did not discriminate when it came to companions, even though the issues some of them came with did ring several kinds of trouble. Like the obvious way Broody and Blondie kept vying for his approval. Or the fact that unrequited love was blossoming. Hawke was even oblivious to the danger he was getting himself into.

But I get ahead of myself—this all began when he met the Riviani—Isabela.

It all started with the skirmish at the Hanged Man, which led to a duel, which then led to a slaughter in the _chantry_. A celebratory drink was called for and I was willing to bet that Hawke, as male as he was, followed the woman around with his eyes because of her very revealing outfit. He paid in kind for quite being so distracted, of course.

"So, why are you buying me drinks when you should be saving up money for an expedition I keep hearing about?" The woman purred, gazing over her tankard of ale at the inebriated man. No offense, but Hawke could _not_ outdrink her even if he tried—_and he was trying quite hard_—not to mention the fact that she was cheating by swapping mugs whenever a chance presented itself.

The man smiled and his russet eyes were almost smoldering with an intoxicating heat—though he was very far gone from being sober. I also noticed that the two were sitting awfully close. "After we sell the loot we got from fighting your unfortunate duelers—we should have more than enough to cover _some_ celebratory drinks."

This was true. Aside from a couple of blades which he had decided to give his younger brother and Broody, we were to fence everything else when the sun rose. These would fetch a pretty sum from my contacts, which would more than pay for the kegs we were no doubt downing amongst our lively party.

"Ah—a man who has it all figured out? Very refreshing in these parts—" She began, casting her eyes around the tavern. "Tell me then, would you mind if _I_ stuck around for a bit? You know, in return for that business with Hayder."

This was apparently what Hawke had had in mind. You know, for a man who commanded so much attention, he seemed almost… _naïve_ in his display of interest—striving hard for a suave demeanor but not fooling the_ Riviani_. "I'd be very much _honored_— _Captain_ Isabela." Perhaps what Master Carver said was true; that the eldest Hawke did spend too much time in the limelight to function like a normal person.

It sure made for an interesting story; Hawke—a man who had it all, but had absolutely no game at all around the women he _liked_.

xOxOx

**Hawke**

I woke with the heaviest of clouds in my head, a mustiness that clouded my thoughts—and with each movement I made, something ached; the swinging of my dull legs off the bed, the rush of feeling into my fingers—all the while not knowing just _how_ I had returned the previous night.

I hated the taste in my mouth; the acrid taste that covered my tongue and the faint, the distressing hint of bile which bore testament to the copious amounts of alcohol from mere hours before. This was not the first I found myself like so, but each time, I swore it would be the last. One simply needed to develop a hollow leg for all that liquor—which I was working on, and failing.

Ugh, that liquor. The dratted mugs of ale I swallowed at the deplorable Hanged Man still swilled about my middle. Never again. But I remembered the lovely amber eyes that had coaxed me to drink round after round while their owner remained woefully sober. Ugh, _Isabela_. She had to think me an utterly _green_ fool.

Staggering out the door, I promptly fell over Rush, the _mabari_—our long-suffering hound since Lothering. He had journeyed alongside us from Ferelden, chomping on darkspawn, roaring at debt-collectors, only to remain cooped up each day in Kirkwall with only _Gamlen_ for company. He squirmed out from underneath me, before covering my face with spittle—in the most ghastly, yet endearing fashion that only he was capable of, while I just lay there, quite dazed. And soon, he was pulled off me by a very amused Bethany, who handed me a cool and damp cloth for my doggy-smelling face. The _thumps_ Rush made with his loyally wagging butt made me cringe—in a bid to refrain from laughing aloud.

"Mother's worried about you, so she got Carver to go with her." Came my sister's voice, carefully low and soothing, in great consideration of my infirmity.

"Where?" I croaked, apparently only capable of monosyllables, but I was relieved to find that my voice was not completely gone, just _very_ hoarse.

"Something about the estate. And a key. Here's some water." Or course, the great Amell estate—the one that mother hadn't totally forgotten, despite our estrangement with our _noble_ grandparents.

But something was vaguely off—why were they going together? Mother should be staying _here_ while the rest of us checked it out, it was no place for her—Carver should have known better. I struggled to my surprisingly steady feet without support, grabbing the staff-spears I had fashioned, all but dragging my poor sister to the door.

"We have to go, Bethany—they could be in danger," I babbled, quite certain that I had slurred a couple of words, but not caring anyways. She always understood Carver and me during our drunken stupors—and this time, I was _only_ hung over. I squinted out into the glaring sunlight, and found the streets relatively bare. Lowtown's human traffic did not pick up till around mid-day, and that looked to be _soon_.

But Bethany did not respond in the same harried manner; she merely took the staves from me, chuckling in amusement. "Yes, big brother. Just one thing. You're going to have to put on some pants first."

"_Maker's breath_ _Beth_—next time tell Mother to leave my pants alone—you never know when I'm going to stumble out of bed and straight into battle."

"But they were _torn— _quite disgracefully so. A gigantic rip on your ass— whatever did you do, fall on one of those dreadful spikes?" My sister hid a chuckle as she dutifully strapped her weapon to her back.

"I'm not entirely sure, but think I definitely would've remembered _that._"


	4. Chapter 4: Complications

**Chapter 4: Complications**

"_Why are you staring at me like that?" That voice._

_For a long moment, Anders wondered if what he saw was real. "Karl, it's me. You—you're…"_

_But that man looked so real, so familiar. He knew that it was not to be. Anders found himself wading through the thick air of the Fade—only inching towards that which drew him._

"_I'm dead." That unchanged furtive smile appeared, but Karl still remained a distance away. A distance which he could not bridge. Justice had cut him off from the Fade and its inhabitants quite definitely. The blue tinge to the environs told him that the spirit was nearby and alert of this intrusion—and this, whatever it was, would be stopped._

"_No—I…" But maybe it was possible. Maybe Karl was still alive—in the Fade, and Anders could see him when he closed his eyes at night. Maybe… they could still be together. The light grew brighter, all around him until he could barely make out that figure he ached for, that man that he had let down. The man Anders had killed with his own hands._

"_I know, Anders. Thank you."_

Anders _woke_ up from his dream with the man's name on his lips.

xOxOx

I had only just opened my clinic for the day when the loud calls from outside grew to distracting proportions—and the voice I recognized belonged to that singular man, the one who had told me that it wasn't my fault, that the templars were to blame for Karl's condition.

_They were the ones who killed him, not you._

He had also accepted my particular—_circumstances—_with Justice quite easily, with very little complaint.

_I know the feeling._ Hawke had murmured, a wry smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Something about him had repulsed Justice from the start— but the man's mannerisms were noble, mesmerizing; even for one who should not be entertaining such thoughts—me.

xOxOx

**Bethany**

Our big brother was certainly sparing nothing in his haste, dashing past guardsmen and the rare templar alike, all in the bid to stop Carver and Mother, with me trailing helplessly in his wake. He came to a stop only at Darktown, wheezing and heaving like an ox, causing Mother no end of worry.

"Stop— I m-ean— it." He gasped, leaning against the wall, staring at Carver and Mother with a pained expression. Poor Garrett seemed to have a stitch in his side from running quite so fast.

As always, Carver was not amused. Sometimes, I wondered why he bore such intensely antagonistic feelings towards our big brother—_he_ only meant the best for us all. "Why? Do we need your gracious _sanction_ to go out on our own now, _Hawke_?"

"_Carver_—" came Mother's quick disapproval. Anything, to stop them from fighting. Their quarrels escalated extremely quickly.

Garrett straightened himself, giving Carver a nasty glare. "Are you even thinking straight—_dear_ _brother_? You brought Mother to _Darktown_."

"I… " That stopped an angry tirade in time; for it was true, after all. Darktown was full of unsavory personalities. Carver's face darkened—and that petulant frown began to form again—a sign that he was going to brood most spectacularly.

But Garrett only sighed, "Let's go together. But Mother…" he began, as he straightened his back— before a large brown blur slammed full force into our big brother's legs, and he toppled over again, collapsing into a heap of barely-stirring clothes .

Rush had tracked us down, and had barreled with all his weight—into the eldest Hawke.

It was a few long moments before anyone spoke again—and the voice that broke the silence belonged to that of a stranger. "Is everything all right? Hawke?" This belonged to a man dressed in what appeared to be a feathery shortcoat and had several large buckles on a leather outfit—how odd that he appeared to know my _fallen_ brother. This man was quite handsome.

xOxOx

I was winded, and frankly, my headache had finally caught up with me from that mad dash through Lowtown. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to open my eyes to the sight of Rush's tongue—his spittle lathering my face quite certainly. Ugh, doggy breath.

Just then, a familiar voice called, "Are you alright, Hawke?" I squinted up at the man—ah, it was Anders—the resident abomination.

"Just winded. Sometimes, it doesn't pay to get up in the mornings." I lay there, continuing my muttering from the dirt of Darktown.

"Or drink yourself silly just to impress a woman," he muttered.

"What?" I raised an eyebrow, turning to look at Anders. Bethany had grabbed ahold of Rush, allowing me to breathe in some non-musky air.

The man shrugged, shifting the feathery pauldrons on his shoulders. "It's legitimate health advice, that's all." Those were some very frivolous clothes—something sure to draw templar attention to his different status. Somebody should tell him that a change of wardrobe was necessary.

"Mother, you should go back to Gamlen's. Bethany will—" I struggled to my feet, my head still somewhat scrambled.

"Oh no, I'm not leaving you and Carver alone- not when you two are so quarrelsome this morning. Bethany will go along, to make sure that your arguments won't get physical." She appeared quite adamant about this, though Carver and I rarely came to blows. We were better than that. _Usually_.

"But you can't come with us, dangerous slavers live in there now", Carver muttered, gesturing melodramatically at the entrance. Well, there was _some_ progress—he actually looked rather sheepish.

"If I may suggest… Missus Hawke can stay in the clinic— it's quite safe there," Anders spoke, his voice seemingly innocuous.

"I don't know..." said Carver. Leaving Mother with Anders did not really appeal to either of us. Justice might not approve of her constant bustle.

"That sounds much better than whatever my boys have in mind—and I shall have Rush for as my guard," she smiled approvingly, looking up admiringly at the former Grey Warden.

"And Anders. He'll be good company," I finished, giving the blonde mage a dirty look. It was his idea after all. And as I noted, he did have a way with charming older women. Chuckles came from my sister, who was finding all this entertaining. She did so love it when _she_ wasn't the one in trouble with Mother.

"No, Garrett— your friend should follow, and I shall be quite alright without a babysitter. Those slavers sound quite- dangerous. That is, if it's not too much trouble?" Mother appeared to have decided this quite firmly, and a twinkle crept into her eye. She had noticed something, though whatever it was evaded my attention.

Anders nodded, suddenly quite eager. "No it's fine. Your son has done a lot for me; it's only fair I return the favour."

"Mother…" Came the resounding groan. It was one thing to treat us like children, but after everything that had happened? The Blight, our age and the circumstances of our escape to Kirkwall made it extremely embarrassing. But there was simply no forcing the issue.

"Let's just go," Carver muttered, shouldering the way forward.

"Rush," I called back, "take care of Mother." The replying growls and barks echoed after us—and I felt just a bit more secure, knowing that he sounded as every bit as vicious that father and I had trained him to be, only on command, of course. Templars knew not to enter when such a _dangerous_ animal ran loose in the house; not many people knew that Rush was a softie who loved cats _and_ had a sweet tooth for berries.

"So… this all once belonged to our family," Bethany whispered, awed, looking round the place's extensive basement.

"It's just a cellar. For wine, and cheese or… in this case, slaves— you know, whatever keeps well in a dark and sinister environment."

"Still, we must have been quite wealthy, back in the day." She continued, sidling up next to me.

"Not _'we'_. The _Amells_. We're _Hawkes_." Carver muttered back, apparently still fuming under all that muscle, unwilling to claim kinship with the past. Anders followed without much comment, though I was not sure I feel comfortable with Justice right on my heels— he was a tetchy one.

Rounding a corner, we heard voices— Nevarran surely— and hid behind some of the large casks. Cackles erupted from the men, and we caught something about elves in their really thick accents.

"To make matters even better, the city guard would not give a shit for these knife-ears."

We watched them laugh, and though riled up by their words, we could not run headlong into battle without a clear indication of exactly how many slavers there were. "And they are pretty, even the males. Good for business."

"Elves are people too," Carver growled before he rushed into battle, catching everyone else (including us) offguard.

"_Shit_." I swore, following my _dumbass_ of a brother while making sure that Bethany stayed behind the line of fire. But soon more armed men swarmed through the door—far more than I had expected. Anders began casting supportive spells, and Bethany followed his lead with her trademark force fields.

"You know, I think the point is that no one should be traded for money. Not elves, not humans, not dwarves," Bethany panted as she casted at the sudden increase in opponents.

Anders' voice was loud, above the fray; a faint mocking tone accompanied his words. "Elves are particularly susceptible. Didn't you hear? They are _'prettier'_ than us humans."

Bethany giggled unbecomingly in the midst of battle. "Oooh I _know_ what they mean. Like Fenris?"

"What?" All of us blurted, shocked at such a revelation. Did our little sister like the broody elf?

"Er… I mea- I meant—Merrill."

"Yeah—_Merrill_." Now it was Carver's turn to seem bashful. How simply remarkable.

* * *

P.S.: Do let me know how it is :D I really want to know what you think!


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